


Merry Moose-Haps

by Couyfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Sam Winchester, Drunkenness, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Holiday, Humor, M/M, Mooseley, Ruler of Hell Crowley (Supernatural), fic contains art, unintentional date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Couyfish/pseuds/Couyfish
Summary: When Sam runs into Crowley on a coffee run, he can’t believe it’s a simple coincidence.
Relationships: Crowley & Sam Winchester, Crowley (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	Merry Moose-Haps

**Author's Note:**

> **Co-plotted, edited and art by[Threshie!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie) **  
> Check out more of sis's art [ HERE!](https://threshasketch.tumblr.com/)

The afternoon air was crisp and chill, a stark contrast to the paper cup of hot coffee that Sam was sipping as he walked down the calm streets. Dean had been getting on his nerves all morning. Dean was eager for a new case to take his mind off things, and kept asking Sam if he'd found anything or if he wanted to check out some recent news story that was clearly not their type of deal.

Sam paused as he reached the corner of the street, watching the walk sign change to red. Oh well. He wasn't in a hurry to get back to the motel. Dean had eventually given up and taken a nap, so Sam had opted to go out for a walk to get some fresh air – and an espresso, of course. As he was standing there waiting for the light to change again, he glanced down and found the former King of Hell standing at his side.

“Crowley?” Sam asked, frowning down at the demon. What in the hell was he doing there?

“Moose,” Crowley said evenly, sipping his own cup of coffee before looking up at Sam. The former King was dressed in his usual nice black suit, complete with a brocade coal gray tie. He seemed only mildly interested that Sam was there, and for a moment Sam considered that maybe it was just a coincidence that they’d met on the street. Unfortunately, he knew better. 

As the walk sign changed, Sam started hesitantly across the road, keeping an eye on Crowley.

“Uh, what are you doing here?” Sam pressed.

“Enjoying a mocha with whipped cream and sprinkles. You?”

Reaching the other sidewalk, Crowley turned and headed off down the street. Sam stared after him for a second before hurrying the same way. He easily matched pace with the demon, who glanced up at him over his coffee, quirking an arched eyebrow.

“Yes?” He asked, seemingly surprised that Sam had followed him.

“You think I really believe that we ran into each other by accident?” Sam huffed, stubbornly staying at his side. Crowley shrugged a shoulder.

“If you really want to follow me around, be my guest, Moose.”

\- - - 

The coffees were long gone, the espresso cups were in the trash, but Sam was still following Crowley around. The demon had led Sam to a plain hotel in the middle of town called ‘Howell’s Hideaway.’ As the demon paused to hold the door for him, Sam awkwardly mumbled a thank you and stepped inside. The bottom of the hotel was a bar-lounge combo, complete with a jazzy band playing music on a small stage. A lady in a waitress uniform stepped up and took their coats, giving Sam a flirty wink in passing.

Straightening his collar, Crowley stepped up to take a seat at the bar, waving to the bartender.

“Is Laura in yet?” He asked.

The bartender shook her head, batting big brown eyes at them.

“Who’s yer friend? He’s yummy.”

“Hm,” Crowley hummed, looking over as Sam sat down beside him with a shrug. “Not a friend, really.”

A little hurt, Sam gave the bartender a big smile and rested a hand on the demon’s back.

“No, we’re not friends,” he reassured her.

“Ooh,” the lady giggled, “Mister Crowley’s datin’ again? Holy smokes, I’m gonna tell ev’yone! Hey guys!” The bartender called out, her implacable accent stronger the louder she was. “The King’s got a sweetheart!”

“NO,” Crowley cut in, leaning on the counter and shaking his head. “No, we’re not together—”

“No need to be shy,” the lady purred, turning to unlock a glass cabinet behind her. Sam saw that there was a single bottle inside, but the label was in another language. After she poured their drinks completely full and moved to help a woman that looked to be a hundred years old, Crowley’s head whipped around so he could glare Sam down.

“Not funny, Moose.”

“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam said defensively. The demon took a long drink from his whiskey and Sam sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “Aren’t we friends, though?” He wondered aloud.

“Why in the world would we be FRIENDS? How many times have we tried to kill each other? How many of my plans have you mucked up?” Crowley hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “Do you have any idea how many demons frequent this bar? I was trying to BLEND. You know, make connections, work on my business NETWORKING,” Crowley spat. “Now everyone here is going to scurry home and tell their friends that I’m dating a…WINCHESTER,” he growled through his teeth.

Sitting quietly, Sam sipped on his whiskey and tried not to cast too many awkward glances over his shoulders. He shrank as he noticed that half the bar was staring at them. It might have been a good idea to leave, but Sam wasn’t sure that walking out alone was a good idea, either. A bunch of miffed demons might jump at the chance to kill him without Dean along.

“Why are you following me, anyway?” Crowley asked in a whisper.

“I thought you wanted me to,” Sam grumbled back, turning his glass in his fingers. Watching it was easier than looking at Crowley at that moment. The demon was quiet and Sam could feel the other man’s gaze burning into him.

“WHY?” Crowley fumed.

Sam looked his way again, managing a shrug like the demon had been doing. It earned him another dark look.

“It seemed weird that we just ran into each other, so I figured that you were trying to pull me into something. L-like a trap or something.”

“Moose,” Crowley said, pulling on a very calm expression as he faced Sam. “Every time I go in for a massage, my massage therapist tells me how my shoulders are like solid granite. Therefore, I decided to take a day — ONE. BLOODY. DAY. — off to get away from it all.”

Staring down at him, Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You really think I believe that?”

“I don’t care if you do or not.”

Again, they sat in silence, nursing their drinks. A hand slapping his back made Sam spill the last swig of his whiskey.

“Crowley, King of Hell, tying the knot?!” A big meaty man laughed, slapping Crowley’s back too. “Who’s the gal?”

Surprisingly, Crowley didn’t vaporize him. Instead, he turned in his seat, smiling pleasantly.

“Her name is Marissa—”

“Nice to meet you MARISSA!” Sticking his hand out to Sam, the man chuckled.

“No,” Crowley tried, holding a hand up. “That’s not—”

“My name’s Sam,” Sam told him, shaking his hand. Deciding to try to help the situation, he cleared his throat and added, “We’re not together.”

Completely ignoring him, the big man plunked down beside Crowley, resting an arm over his shoulder nicely.

“Now, Crowley, I know you’re into the ‘fear is power’ ruling thing, but I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to your wedding. You wouldn’t do that to little old Tathrog, would you? Especially since you finally conquered a WINCHESTER. Respect, my friend. You’ve got my vote…if I get to do a toast at the wedding.”

“Conquered,” Crowley said very thoughtfully, tapping his glass to signal to the bartender for a refill. He took a sip and shook his head. “No such luck.”

“Somebody’s got you whipped!” Making a whip motion, the big demon laughed loudly.

How was the man not dead? Crowley was curling his lip in disgust at the comment, but he wasn’t lifting a finger to get rid of him.

Knowing how it would look, Sam slid a hand over to grab Crowley’s. When the demon glanced his way like he’d grown a third eye, Sam retrieved his hand and ran it through his hair instead.

“Uh, Tathrog?”

“Hm?” The fleshy demon grunted, leaning to look around Crowley at him.

“Unless you want to eat an angel blade, get your hand off my fiance,” Sam told him sharply. He had tried with all his might to sound pissed. Hopefully the demon didn’t call his bluff, because Sam didn’t even HAVE an angel blade.

“Oooh,” Tathrog mocked, though he removed himself from Crowley’s space immediately. Jerking a thumb at Sam, he stage whispered down to Crowley, “Bet he’s great in the sack.”

“Your branch is in…?” Crowley prompted grumpily.

“Kansas. We’re doing great this year. Profits are up two percent.”

“Two?” Crowley echoed, mildly interested. “Creative accounting, anyone?”

“No, no, no. Just a lot of lost souls out there looking for an easy out. Times are hard. People are willing to skip the small print for a better life.” Tathrog pulled a bowl of nuts closer down the bar, cracking one easily in his big hand.

Sam was intrigued by their casual conversation. It was always strange when he remembered that demons ran hell like a big business, complete with profit margins, SynergySpike presentations and data spreadsheets. It felt so far removed from smiting and exorcising. He decided to sit back, another enjoy drink, and listen in on the other world.

“…Are you really not getting married?” Sam heard Tathrog ask between a meandering conversation of contracts. When Crowley shook his head, Tathrog did too, slapping Crowley’s back heartily. “Sorry to hear it.” Covering his annoyance with a fake smile, Crowley returned to his drink.

“Someday, perhaps.”

Propping an arm on the bar, Sam watched the two of them and did his best not to smile. Maybe it was the three glasses of straight whiskey, but it was endearing seeing Crowley with a buddy of sorts. It was almost…humanizing.

As Tathrog got up and sauntered off, Crowley turned and caught Sam smiling at him.

“What?” The demon asked through a frown. Still smiling, Sam shrugged and finished his drink.

“I better go,” he mumbled, climbing off his bar stool.

“So soon?” Crowley got up to follow him, leaving his half finished glass of whiskey there on the bar.

“What do you mean so soon?” Sam laughed, looking around for where the waiter might have hung his coat. It wasn’t under his stool. “I thought you didn’t want me following you?”

“Sam, you’re drunk,” Crowley told him with a put upon sigh, taking his arm to guide him to the door. “At least let me walk you home. This neighborhood is rather demonic.”

“No way,” Sam protested, pulling his arm away. “Nope. Dean’ll be a jerk about it. I never get drunk anymore. Not even with HIM.”

Catching his arm again, Crowley dragged him over to the desk by the door, magically pulling Sam’s coat out of the closet.

“You never get drunk? Are you serious?” Crowley groaned, holding Sam’s jacket while the big brunette tried to get it up onto his shoulders.

It took a lot of coordination that Sam suddenly didn’t have. By the time he got one arm into a sleeve, the other one was out. Baffled, he tried to put the coat on both arms from over his head instead.

“Moose, STOP,” Crowley hissed, yanking the jacket away. Shaking his head, the demon somehow kept both of Sam’s arms in the sleeves as he tugged it up onto his shoulders. “There.”

“Thanks,” Sam told him, turning. The world spun a bit faster than him for a moment and he got distracted gazing up at the twinkling lights above the bar. How come he hadn’t noticed those before?

“I’m calling your brother then,” Crowley said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“No!” Sam slapped it out of his hand. Instantly feeling bad, he bent to pick it up and lost his balance, toppling down to his knees and knocking over a chair.

“For pity’s sake,” he heard Crowley growl, taking his arm to help him up. “You have two options, Moose — I call Dean to pick you up or I walk you home. PICK ONE.”

“I’m not drunk!” Sam protested, despite how he felt. That whiskey was really smooth. Another glass sounded pretty good…

Cussing under his breath, Crowley took his arm and hauled him out into the fresh night air.

“Oh my god,” Sam gasped, looking around. “It’s dark? Holy…how long was I listening to you two talk about the…soul…the…synergy… business-y stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley sighed, leading him along. “Come on.”

Following after him, Sam looked down at their hands and smiled.

“Watch out. Taterog’s gonna think we’re married again,” Sam managed around his numb tongue. Oh, that was annoying.

“TATHrog.”

“What?” Sam mumbled.

“His name is Tathrog — he’s an old colleague.”

“Colleague from WHAT?” Watching as the world wobbled, Sam smiled to himself. The clumsy tongue was annoying, but the dizziness always made him happy. He felt like when he was kid, spinning until he was too woozy to stand up.

“Sam?”

Blinking heavily, Sam looked at the demon.

“What?”

“Bloody hell, how drunk ARE you?”

“Who’s Laura?” Sam asked, realizing that their trip never involved meeting a demon called that.

“…She’s an old girlfriend,” Crowley admitted, keeping hold of Sam’s hand, which was a good thing. He was strong enough that Sam didn’t have to worry about falling over again.

Stepping closer, he hooked an arm over the King’s shoulders. That was better. He definitely couldn’t fall over now — where the hell were they?

Sam blinked and looked around. Walking there had been a blur. None of the buildings around them looked familiar.

“Where are we?”

“What do you mean where are we? We’re at your motel,” Crowley gestured pointedly to a run down drive-in motel with a big blinking sign above it reading ‘Move-n-Snooze.’

“…That’s not my motel,” Sam told him, cringing. “D-did I say it was?”

“YES,” the demon groaned through his teeth.

“We’re staying in the…” Sam trailed off, trying to remember where he and Dean had decided to stay. They had called a lot of motels on the way there since it was the weekend and everywhere was busy.

“In THE?” Crowley prompted.

Hesitating, Sam swallowed as his stomach suddenly threatened the back of his throat with bile.

“Do NOT puke on me,” the demon warned him angrily.

“I won’t puke,” Sam said quickly, gagging at the thought. He was okay — NO, he wasn’t. 

The whiskey didn’t taste as good the second time around. Thankfully, it seemed like Sam’s stomach had digested most of it. Wiping the corners of his mouth gingerly, Sam felt horrible. All of Crowley’s clothes were hand tailored and very fancy, and Sam had just vomited very expensive whiskey all over him.

“I’m s-so sorry,” Sam stammered, catching a glint of rage in the demon’s eyes. It was replaced with resignation as Crowley slid his blazer off calmly, then tugged the tie off over his head.

The demon took a slow, deep breath, laying the blazer and tie over his arm.

“…Do you remember ANYTHING about the motel?” Crowley snapped. “ANYTHING.”

Cringing, Sam tried to focus.

“I think the building was red. Yeah, it was red.” He nodded to himself, feeling confident. Dean had commented about sleeping in a barn when they drove up to it.

“Red. Great. That isn’t a common color,” the demon remarked sarcastically. He started off, then made a U-turn back to take Sam’s wrist. “Come along, Moose.”

\- - -

  
“That’s not it,” Sam told Crowley, frowning at the motel they had arrived at. “The one we stayed at had a reindeer on the roof.”

“It’s the holiday season. MILLIONS of places have reindeer on the roof. Are you certain?” The demon gestured to the motel with his free arm, keeping the other around Sam to hold him up on his feet.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sam told him apologetically, looking down at him. Crowley sighed as they started off down the street again.

They had to look strange to all the passersby, with Sam swaying on his feet and the man under his arm carrying his jacket and tie. It was a good thing that Crowley didn’t get cold, because the top button of his nice black shirt had come undone.

“I’m really sorry for puking on you,” Sam told him as they walked.

“Perhaps you should go easy on the 200-year old whiskey next time,” Crowley said dryly, leading Sam toward the crosswalk. As soon as they were across the street, though, Sam moved up to wrap an arm over the demon’s shoulders again. That way he could support himself, and then Crowley could focus on finding the motel.

Going home was a good idea, but Sam was starting to feel hungry. The most the motel had to offer was a vending machine and questionable room service.

“Can we stop at the mall?” Sam asked, pointing to the large building as they passed it. The demon slowed, watching the flow of holiday shoppers going in and out.

“I suppose.”

Charging past a gaggle of singing carolers, Crowley dragged Sam inside. It hadn’t felt very cold outside, but the warmth of the mall made Sam remember that it was winter.

Crowley pulled Sam’s arm off of his shoulders, propping the big brunette up against a statue of a snowman.

“Stay here for a moment. I’m going to text your brother.”

“No, no,” Sam spun back to face him, tipping as he turned. Crowley caught him just in time, leaning him back against the snowman. The demon slipped a hand into Sam’s pocket, taking back his phone that Sam had picked up earlier. It kind of tickled Sam’s side, and he couldn’t hold in a chuckle.

“I’m just going to ask which motel he’s at,” Crowley insisted, rolling up his sleeves and wandering away to text Dean on his phone. 

Sam watched his back, blinking through his hazy mind. The demon was taking care of him. He hadn’t noticed. Crowley wanted to make sure that he got home safely. Maybe they really WERE friends.

While Crowley took the call, Sam spotted something sparkling outside in the mall’s courtyard. People were gathered, smiling and talking, with beautiful lights strung above their heads.

Sam didn’t relish the idea of listening in on Crowley’s conversation, so he started toward the courtyard. It looked like there was a table full of free food out there.

Tripping over a light up present, Sam spotted a blob of glitter and lights in the shape of a superhero Santa Claus and grinned. Dean would LOVE to see that thing. Too bad he wasn’t here.

\- - -

The moment that Crowley had sent the text asking what motel the Winchesters were staying in, Dean called him. Crowley sighed and answered the phone.

“Just tell me the name,” he grumbled.

“Why do you want to know what motel I’m at?” Dean pressed on the other end of the line, in the middle of chewing something.

“I happen to be in town.”

“Bull,” Dean replied. “Sammy goes missing and you just HAPPEN to be in town?”

“What motel?” Trying to keep his calm, Crowley squeezed the phone.

“Where’s Sammy?”

“He’s here, safe and sound,” Crowley grumbled, gesturing back toward Moose.

Or…where he had been. Glancing around quickly, Crowley frowned, making a silent vow to never take Sam out to a bar ever again. Drunk Moose was a hazard to himself and now he was out there in the world — alone.

“Hm.”

“HM?” Dean asked, growing quiet. “What do you mean ‘hm?’”

“It’s nothing,” Crowley assured him.

“Nothing? I just got a picture from Sam. It’s a selfie with a Santa in red superhero tights!” The older Winchester roared.

Ducking around the crowds, Crowley scanned the shops for any with Santa statues in front of them. Sam couldn’t have gone that far.

“What else is in the picture?” Crowley asked urgently.

“Christmas lights — are you guys at a mall?”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley told him, distracted as he finally spotted Sam. The giant brunette was sitting outside on a bench, a steaming cup in one hand and a green Christmas cookie in his mouth. The King smiled to himself. “I have him. Text me the motel address,” he told Dean, hanging up.

Stepping out into the courtyard was dazzling. No wonder Moose had come outside to enjoy the scene. Bright warm yellow lights were strung up between all the buildings, wrapping around the classical looking street lights.

“Sam?” Crowley asked as he approached the bench. Looking up at him, Sam smiled widely and hopped to his feet. The demon took note of a dusting of red and green glitter all over Sam’s clothes on his left side.

“I got you a cocoa!” Moose slurred happily, sticking the cup into Crowley’s hand. It matched the one that the big man still held, complete with a pile of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles.

Dropping his clothes onto the bench, the demon stared down at the cocoa dubiously. When was the last time that he had had hot chocolate?

Flopping an arm around his shoulders, Sam pulled them together and snapped a picture with his phone.  
  
“There!” Showing Crowley the screen briefly, Sam still wore a goofy smile as he texted the picture to Crowley. “Proof.”

“Proof of what?” Crowley asked, frowning slightly. If Sam was seriously trying to prove that they were dating, Crowley was going to…

Well, he was going to do something. With a bright, dimpled smile directed down at him from Moose, he wasn’t sure if he could manage to be mad anymore. Even with his vomit soaked clothes slung over his arm.

“That we’re friends,” Sam told him proudly, nibbling on his Christmas cookie again.

The King of Hell was moved by the Winchester’s cheery mood. He’d gotten Crowley a hot chocolate. It was a small gesture, but Crowley was still surprised he’d even thought of it. Spending time around Sam without the world ending had actually made for an entertaining evening. Maybe they could do it again sometime — only without the whiskey.

“Why are you covered in glitter, Moose?” Sipping the cocoa for Sam’s benefit, Crowley put a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, I fell onto Santa when I took a picture with him,” Sam explained, gesturing to the rumored spandex-clad Santa Claus statue. 

The Santa had a frosted white beard, a toothy grin and wide happy-crazy eyes. It was disturbing on many levels, and coated in holiday glitter that matched the sparkles on Sam.

“It makes you look so Christmas-y,” Crowley told him. Laughing, Sam shrugged.

“I actually don’t like Christmas that much.”

The sudden drop in Sam’s mood made Crowley pause. They both weren’t much for the holidays, it seemed. It made sense with Crowley being a demon and without family, but Sam had Dean. The same Dean that was probably plotting the King’s demise as they spoke.

Ducking under Sam’s arm, Crowley patted Moose’s back.

“Let’s get you home.”

\- - - 

“Were you two working a case? Without me? I texted you like fifty times!” Dean grumbled, letting Sam and Crowley into the motel room. Sam’s head was still heavy. The room was just as ugly as before with its tacky peeling orange wallpaper and droopy twin beds. Sam’s feet were definitely going to hang off his bed tonight.

“No, we just went to a bar,” Sam started to explain, but Crowley cut him off with a waving hand.

“NO. We ran into each other on the street and your brother—”

“Where the hell is your tie?” 

Sam glanced down at Crowley’s chest, his smile fading as he remembered that he barfed on the demon.

“I threw up,” he admitted sadly.

Crossing his arms, Dean’s eyes narrowed. He smelled the air and fanned a hand in front of his face, scowling. “Whiskey. Are you drunk, Sammy?”

“I’m, uh.” Stiffening, Sam smiled sheepishly at him. “Crowley bought me three drinks—”

“No, no,” Crowley insisted. Shaking his head, he let go of Sam and helped him to sit down on one of the beds, before turning back to Dean. “Sam followed me to Howell’s and it happens to be a demon bar. The bartender ASSUMED he was with me and put his drinks on my tab. When he got sloshed, I tried to get him home. He couldn’t remember what motel he was staying in, which is why I texted YOU.”

That was the real story, as far as Sam could recall. There were definitely some parts in there that he didn’t remember, though.

“Let me get this straight. You took my brother to a DEMON bar, got him wasted, managed to lose your tie AND your jacket — then lost him at the mall? RIGHT.”

Gesturing to Sam, Crowley growled.

“My clothes are at the mall. Now excuse me while I go get them.” 

“Crowley?” Sam called quickly, climbing to his feet. He smiled at the demon, waving a hand. “Thanks. I had fun.”

Slowly, Dean’s head turned from Sam to look at Crowley. The demon’s gaze was still on Sam as he just nodded awkwardly, vanishing.

Sitting on the bed again, Sam felt disappointed. It seemed like Crowley really had just wanted to get him home.

\- - -

Eggnog was better than Crowley remembered. Stirring in scotch helped. Lounging on his throne, Crowley swirled his drink in one hand, phone in the other.

He had a new picture for his album. Every time he scrolled past it, he paused. While Dean was a demon they had taken a ridiculous number of selfies.

But he only had one with Sam.


End file.
